What’s your cell number?” She hadn’t thought to get it off Paulette’s phone.
Without hesitation, he handed her a Singing Rock business card. Main phone number, address, website. His name and personal cell number.
“Thanks.” She tucked it in her back pocket. If he already had cards printed up, proclaiming him to be the property’s manager, it appeared he had a long-term stint in mind. Which could be problematic.
“From the list you gave Paulette earlier, it looked as if the damage was more extensive at Timberline than Bristlecone.”
“Considerably. Bristlecone was a paint job. But Timberline has a busted lock. Broken window. Totally trashed, like Pinyon. A least these incidents should be the last of it.”
“You mean if it’s those kids who’ll head home after the holiday weekend?”
“Right. Then maybe we’ll have peace and quiet around here.” Rob turned toward the Jeep.
“I’ll bring everything straight out to Timberline.”
“You don’t have to do that. Set everything inside the side door of the office. Give me a call and I’ll pick it up. I don’t want you spending your whole vacation on Singing Rock repairs.”
Or following him around?
Rob seemed under the impression she’d be here for Labor Day weekend, then on her way. Or was that wishful thinking on his part?
“It’s no trouble. Besides, I’d like to look at the damage.”
“May not be much to see by the time you return.” At least he politely refrained from pointing out that she’d turned down the opportunity to look it over when the deputy suggested it. “I made some headway on it yesterday afternoon. If I get the mess cleaned up, I can move on to the repairs faster.”
Not knowing he’d intended to jump ahead on the clean up without her yesterday, she’d run errands, stocked up on groceries and returned Paulette’s phone to her. Why hadn’t she thought to inspect Timberline first? What if her folks called? How could she report knowledgably on the situation, like a manager would do, if she couldn’t provide an eyewitness evaluation?
She glanced at the list again. “This shouldn’t take too long. Maybe you’ll still need help by the time I get back.”
He frowned—surprise, surprise—then nodded. “Suit yourself.”
Suit yourself. That seemed to be his standard, noncommittal response to her suggestions. Undoubtedly he’d get that cabin cleaned up and repaired in record time, ensuring little remained for her to assist with. But she was a power shopper, not given to lingering in the aisles like many ladies loved to do. She preferred to have a list in hand and get in and get out.
So they’d see who beat whom… .
Rob glanced at his watch again, then toward the center of the cabin’s main room piled high with debris he’d gathered from the wreckage. Why did things always take longer than you thought they would? Olivia would be back before he knew it.
As at Pinyon last week, malicious visitors had done their best to render the space uninhabitable. Fortunately, except for the lock and window, damage was relatively superficial, but time-consuming to clean up.
When he’d worked for a Flagstaff property management business in college, he’d seen far worse. Whoever had done this was an amateur by comparison. At least here cement hadn’t been poured down the toilet to harden.
But it was a mess nevertheless. Feathers from sliced-up pillows floated around like snowy confetti and the contents of salt, pepper, coffee and sugar containers covered the floor in a gritty coating. If he’d have been smart, he’d have done the in-town errands himself and assigned Olivia to tackle the cleaning. Or rousted out his part-time assistant manager to wield the mop and vacuum, even if it was his day off.
On his drive out to Timberline, he’d rechecked the other vacant cabins. Found another “tagged” overnight. A back door window pane had been broken where they could reach in and unlock the door. Like here, coffee packet contents had been strewn about along with sugar and salt. Not trashed as badly as this one, but so much for hopes that they’d seen the last of the hooligans.
He’d told Olivia he suspected kids were the culprits. But he couldn’t be certain of that. He didn’t like to think it might be the beginning of something more serious. These cabins farthest from the Singing Rock lodge hadn’t been occupied for the past month or more. Had they become handy hideouts for adults with more criminal intent?
The muscles in his upper arms tightened at the thought of walking blindly into another situation like the one of a month-and-a-half ago. He hurled a battered foam pillow to the growing pile of debris, the abrupt, fierce motion momentarily easing the tension in his shoulders.
“You’re letting yourself get spooked, bud,” he muttered aloud. Hadn’t Paul and Rosa shown him around the property when he’d come for the interview a few weeks ago? He’d ventured out this way on his own since then, too. None of those times had there been evidence of recent occupation. No telltale signs or scents that might accompany alcohol or drug use. Drug manufacturing.
No, it had to be those kids. Well-intentioned teens who feared that tree thinning and the related loss of the thick undergrowth between the pines would reduce ground cover for small animals. Admittedly, it would for a time. But it also served as a safeguard against a massive conflagration. He’d been witness to the devastation caused by lightning or abandoned campfires in mountain country. Hundreds, thousands or even hundreds of thousands of acres of pristine ponderosa pine forest reduced to charred rubble. Nothing remaining to harbor any animal, feathered or furry, for a good hundred years or more.
He could handle the kids. But the thought of adult trespassers gnawed at his mind. Only weeks ago, when he’d walked out of the interview with a job offer, Canyon Springs seemed an answered prayer. Ideal for raising his precious two-year-old daughter, Angela.
Sweet Angie.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he recalled her wispy brown hair. Soft, flawless skin. Big gray eyes focused trustingly on him, her tiny hand cradled in his.
His hands fisted. He’d protect her with his dying breath.
Had it just been a few weeks ago as he’d lain in bed awaiting the blare of the alarm clock, that he’d meditated on the comforting realization that for the first time in a long time he’d listened for and heard God’s voice? Had obediently walked through the door he believed God opened. But now his decision seemed tainted. Criminal activity shattered the illusion of safety.
He glanced at the open door as his ears picked up the crunch of gravel from an approaching vehicle. The sound of an engine shutting off. The slam of a door.
Olivia. How could she be back so soon? It wasn’t even nine o’clock. He took a deep breath.
“Rob! Rob!”
A prickling sensation raced up his spine at the desperation in her voice. He launched himself out the front door.
“Hurry, Rob!”
Olivia jumped up from where she knelt beside a shivering and bloodied Elmo. She took a quick step toward the cabin, then halted. Swung back toward the whimpering animal whose soulful brown eyes focused on her. She dropped again to her knees beside the crouching pup, its tail wagging a halfhearted greeting. And then Rob was there beside her.
“What happened? Did you hit him?”
What kind of assumption was that? “No, but it looks like someone did.”
With gentle fingers, Rob inspected the pup, cupping its head and lifting it slightly as he bent to get a better look at the damage. “He’s got quite a cut here. Look at the dried blood. And it’s still oozing.”
“Is he going to be okay?” She gave Elmo’s flank a reassuring pat.
With a yelp, the pup’s